


Seeds of its own solution

by Phrenotobe_Archive



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/F, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-27
Updated: 2012-12-27
Packaged: 2017-11-22 16:50:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/612038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phrenotobe_Archive/pseuds/Phrenotobe_Archive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A first-person perspective fic about Kanaya Maryam's movements leading up to the meeting with Rose and Dave at the green sun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seeds of its own solution

**Author's Note:**

  * For [VoiceOfTheLegion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VoiceOfTheLegion/gifts).



> Having two of my three prompts essentially overwritten and displayed by Canon made finding a hook pretty tough, but I hope that this fic is an acceptable compromise, written in the gaps I could find.

“I’m worried,” Jade says abruptly, interrupting your question about how the frogs are coming along. You start, because you’re worried too.

GG: i havent heard from rose in a while :(  
GA: Oh

It’s sort of your fault, you suppose. You didn’t mean to take up so much of her time, but over the past few weeks that stretch into her human months you've been talking to her as often as you can manage to catch her attention. There is little else to do while waiting around.

GA: I Dont Think Theres Anything Wrong With That  
GG: >:( 

You weren't that aware that you had such an effect on her communication with others. You've checked ahead and you know there's something wrong with the viewport, something Sollux says isn't his fault, and a tiny voice inside you asks why you care so much about a person not even dwelling in the same timeline. The rest of you is blithely ignoring it, all the signs, all the doubts, and moving the dot with your cursor in increments of hours as often as you can get away with it.

GA: Maybe Shes Busy  
GG: maybe :/  
GG: if you manage to reach her  
GG: let her know were all worried!!!

Guilt, a feeling you often shove down and sit on like a chest too full of halfmade garments, rises, and you try to justify it by rationalizing that Rose is only appreciating your company so much more. She has been friends with them for several years, and you are chasing to catch up. Turning it into a minor victory makes it feel so much nicer.

GA: Ok  
GA: I Will

You’ve always had an attraction to dangerous ladies; danger is so very far off from your oasis, your chainsaw a trusty weapon that slices through most of the sludge-gaited zombies that shuffle forward to introduce themselves forcefully to your ankles, and the most unfortunate part is laundry and weapon maintenance. Picking chunks of rotten and sickly-sweet smelling gack out of a rotary system has never been a brilliant pastime.

At times and for odd reasons, when you have cause to be still, the loss of your mother hits you hard. It makes you seek Rose out, dropping a sardonic hook for her to latch on to. You can forget about the everlasting dark while you gaze at her land, bright enough to hurt your eyes in pastel and shimmering light.

TT: You're a little quiet today, aren't you?  
TT: I was expecting a riposte to that particular notion.  
TT: A swift rebuttal, perhaps even a sly nudge.  
TT: I'll settle for an 'oh, you.'  
TT: Kanaya?

You realize a second late, and scramble to think of an excuse for your radio silence.

GA: I Was Thinking About My Lusus  
GA: I Mean  
GA: Um

And yet, you feel as though you've just managed to fuck it up completely.

TT: Oh.

She stops talking after that, and you're left peering at lavender text, the sharp tips of your teeth needling at your lips as you worry if she'll ever speak to you again. You close your eyes and rub your temples before skipping ahead. You leave it a day, penitent and surly and feeling like Jade may have been right.

CG: WHAT DO YOU EXPECT ME TO DO ABOUT IT?  
GA: Nothing I Guess  
GA: Lets Just Drop It  
CG: NOW HOLD ON JUST A SECOND.  
CG: YOU NEVER MANAGE TO DROP ANYTHING THIS SUDDENLY.

You didn't want anybody to care about it, and even if they did, the amount of time you've spent with her, learning and telling and observing means that anything they say seems just a bit unhelpful. You find yourself going back to old tactics.

GA: Dave Human  
TG: hey kan whats going down  
TG: giving me a great opening line there  
TG: id give it like a five out of ten for ironic overt attention to species  
TG: good dive right in cannonball into this conversation  
TG: like some whacked out skinny kid in goggles and a speedo  
TG: about to plunge headfirst into a slightly damp sponge at the county fair  
TG: is everything chugging along tentacularly  
TG: have you touched a boob  
GA: Uh  
GA: Im Not Sure Where Youd Get That Idea   
TG: is that a yes  
Ga: We Havent Spoken For A Little While  
TG: oh

He's helpful to a certain degree, but there's still time to go back and fix it. And you do. Or you try to. You grit your teeth and drag the timeline back with an expression so focused that it makes somebody laugh behind you. You try to ignore it with a modicum of success. Four hours is enough. It's hard to reckon it accurately and you glance up at the jagged edge over the four colored lines before putting your hands over the keys. Your blood pumper jerks an extra beat, or at least it feels like it does, and your fingers drift lightly over the letters before you press down.

GA: I Just Wanted To Say  
GA: I Was A Bit Thoughtless  
GA: And Im Sorry For What I Said  
GA: I Didnt Mean To Say Anything Upsetting  
GA: That Would Cause Any Kind Of  
GA: Well  
GA: Im Sorry  
GA: And I Realize Youre Probably Quite Busy  
GA: Attending To The Business Of Being A Snarky Broad  
GA: I Can See Youre Doing Quite Well Killing Those Ogres  
GA: Maybe I Will Just Leave This Here  
GA: Before I Embarrass Myself Further  
GA: If You Still Want To Talk  
GA: I Wont Be Going Anywhere  
GA: I Might Get Something To Eat But Thats About It  
GA: And If You See Yourself In The Business Of Forgiving Me  
GA: Perhaps We Can Discuss Things In A Calm And Adult Manner  
GA: ? 

 

It's a long week; too much time before her terse reply. Irreverent and waspish, like you just rewinded back through a half-dozen conversations before all of this happened. She’s definitely busy, most probably hurt and doesn’t trust you any more. You rest your chin in your palm, elbow inelegantly on the brushed steel table, and keep trying.

GA: Rose Are You There  
GA: I Dont Want To Bother You  
GA: Though I Guess I Might Be  
GA: I Guess It Doesnt Matter

You have to sleep at some point, and you dream lucidly about the darkest parts of the outer rim. It’s not as reassuring as Rose inferred it was, and you wake up less well-rested than you could ever imagine. Not sleeping is a thing you could recommend to everyone. You’d rather leave tentacles for those willing to subject themselves to their noodly embrace.

Clearly, you're not the only one. You have a diversion at least, and so do certain other members of your team. Snickers, quiet chuckles and on occasion cackles ring out from corners far and consoles nearby. Dullness is by no means reassuring, but you're glad for once that fighting is over.

Not that people aren't ready to quarrel. There's been an uneasy and mostly unspoken truce between Eridan and Sollux, heavily auspiced by what you sort of hope is the future empress. If you get out of here there's no debate that she'd be in charge. Provided that you all live, which is uncertain. You look to your right and narrow your eyes before huffing a breath at the display.

GA: Why Dont You Put The Turtle Ruins Down  
GA: And Return To Your House  
GA: I Have Sketched Some New Outfits For You That I Think Are Nice  
GA: We Could Try To Make Them

It’s a diversion that you thought up in between times, while she was ordering around the consorts for John, reading and building and sparing no time, talking to people who aren’t you. She’s destroyed most of her planet and through dangerous means has procured a treasure that she's keeping close-lipped about.  
What if you never met? that’s a good one. You might as well ask if you’d be able to hand off this mess to somebody else, but your gut says you don’t have the sense to and you've convinced yourself that everything's fine. The conversation runs as it always does, with a genial exchange, but then it shifts once more, leaving you on the back foot.

TT: Maybe later.  
GA: What If There Isnt A Later  
TT: Well, we already know there won't be.  
TT: That's nothing new.

You have to pause for a minute, because sure as her mind is a mysterious and inevitable thing, she has pulled the rug from beneath you and cut you off right in the middle of a thought.

GA: I Mean  
GA: There Not Being A Later Might Happen Sooner Than You Think  
TT: Wow, what?  
GA: I Mean  
GA: For You Specifically  
GA: Okay  
GA: This Was Something Else I Wanted To Say  
GA: Or Ask About

She acts like she knows a lot more than you do.

TT: The outcome will happen one way or another.  
TT: Whether you have something to do with it or not.  
TT: You might as well ask me.  
TT: At least when it happens, you'll understand what it is that's happening.  
TT: And just maybe, if we're really lucky, so will I.  
GA: Um

It makes you worry.

Behind you, another clamorous discussion begins anew and you really wish that they'd settle. Not only are they constantly at odds, but you don’t feel like putting your hands in that mess. If it'd been before the game, you'd have definitely tried to give them a helping hand, but your patience is now strained. You’ve been pestered constantly since Karkat started raving about wands in a memo; Eridan doesn’t have one, but he wants one dearly. Just like he wants everything else. It must be nice to find out that you really can have it all.

Science, he says, and you tell him to fetch an angel scale. Half a dozen alchemizations later, and he's finally got a rod to call his own. He's welcome to it.  
He's all beams and jovial camaraderie; you can almost see him work out if it's worth giving you an appreciative embrace. Thankfully, he decides you're too scummy for it, and settles for a grand sweeping gesture with the wand, squeezing one end and sparking off a ragged crackle of light.

“Thanks,” he says, and tips up his chin to regard you short-sightedly sideways, the frames of his glasses cocked askew over his fins. They flare as he takes a breath to puff up his chest, striking a pose with one arm raised. He probably thinks he looks like a painting. You think he looks like a ponce.  
“I'm gonna be so great,” he says, half to you, half to himself, “They shouldn't even cross me.”  
His arm lowers and he rotates it to eyeball the business end warily, “They'll never know what hit 'em,” he muses, “I'm gonna make 'em realize...” He turns his head and gives you a thousand-yard stare. It's your cue to run along now, and you vanish, feeling like a fool. 

You turn back to the viewport, and roll it all the way forward, one last time before you get up to leave. It’s nothing unusual, you assume, to manage to collect a sizable following of small, brightly-colored lizards and a respectable collection of orbs. You take a minute memorizing the scene, with the lift of her eyebrows right before the screen cuts out for good. Neatly, you file seeing her again under a ‘Maybe someday’ and place it in the back of your mind so that you can go hunt for something fun to do. All of the nearest chests are opened, so everybody is further afield.

You descend deeper into the asteroid; water drips from pipes for no discernable reason other to disturb your mood; the appearifier leaves the sickly-sweet scent of ozone in your nostrils and a faint acid tang on your tongue. It’d be a lot nicer with more light but you know nobody would ever agree. Your toe scuffs something small and metallic, and it pings off into the dark. You’ve heard that particular rattle before, and your ears perk. The scramble among the pipes is ungainly and there’s just enough crud to make it an undesirable proposition to stick your hands through there but the sweet scent of victory with the light metal between your fingers at last is enough to overpower any lasting revulsion. In the dim half-light you strain to read the serial number, and a long tooth pokes out of your mouth as your jaw drops into a surprised and gleeful smile; it’s time to fulfil your duty at last. 

It’s a great feeling to be certain about things. Back to your console with a carefully guarded spring in your step, and you hadn't realized by now that things had gotten so far ahead. A little embarrassed, you close Eridan's window and begin to talk to Jade. 

GA: I Found A Key  
GA: It Was Deep In The Meteor  
GA: And As I Suspected It Released The Orb  
GA: Which Was Really Confusing To Me For A While  
GA: Until I Realized What It Meant  
GA: Which Is So Obvious Im Amazed I Didnt Think Of It Right Away   
GG: what! 

She's been navigating her land with aplomb and a friend since last you spoke, and has taken a decent amount of your advice. You were fairly sure it was all pertinent but she’s doing very well on her own; you hope that she fares well with it. After a genial conversation, you decide it’s finally time to put your plans into motion. 

GA: There Is No Reason A Meteor Couldnt Act As The Center Of Our Races Resurrection  
GA: They Are Themselves Like Large Seeds After All  
GA: The Only Question Is Whether We Can Manage To Keep It From Being Destroyed  
GA: As Well As Whether I Am Able To Raise A Mother Grub To Maturity  
GA: Oh Wow That Thought Is Actually Pretty Overwhelming  
GG: i think you can do it!  
GA: You Do  
GG: yes...  
GG: didnt you say your lusus was a grub?  
GA: Yes She Was In Fact A Mother Grub  
GA: Who Relinquished Her Calling As Matriarch To Raise Me  
GG: thats perfect! 

Jade is very encouraging, and you stand, ignoring the last chat window pop up. You’ll check it later. Feferi calls you over to her, with that note that implies that she’s never considered that you’d ever neglect to attend. After navigating a less than fully comfortable conversation, you make your excuse and finally check up with Karkat. Grouchy as always, it’s only common courtesy to let him know where you’re going. So you do.  
He seems a little concerned and it’s what Rose would call ‘cute,’ but unnecessary. It’s possible to cover most of the distance with judicious transportalizer trickery in any case. You’ll barely be gone long enough for him to even notice. The matriorb is heavy and reassuring in your arms; you step onto the dark grey platform happily only to be shunted off by an incoming transport a moment later; you stagger back and the orb falls to the steel floor with a rattling clang that makes you wince. You dip to check it for damage before you find yourself embroiled in conversation with yet another highblood. 

CA: hey wwhat are you doin anywway  
CA: wwhats that thing there  
GA: The Matriorb  
GA: I Was About To Go Hatch It In The Core To Restore Our Race  
CA: that sounds  
CA: hopeful  
GA: I Hope Its Hopeful  
CA: you should of told me about this  
CA: if theres goin to be any sort a hope for our race as the prince of hope i demand to be invvolvved  
CA: so dont go anywwhere wwithout me got it  
GA: But

He’s insufferable, but you defer.

GA: Fine

He stalks off toward the hornpile, and once more in the veil you hear the raised sounds of voices; the supersonic whine that resonates in the back of your skull when sollux winds up to discharge his psionic power. Eridan’s wand crackles staccato; his arm is shaking. A loud and piercing voice objects vehemently, and you edge closer to the transportalizer pad, finally moved by skittishness as they make ready to face off. It’s like watching the inevitable doughy fall of a lost grub on hivetube before it smashes wetly on the pavement, and you can barely manage to look away. 

The air turns thick and the room lights up red-blue comingling to purple and blinding white like a welder’s lamp. Somebody shrieks and somebody else howls, and there’s an unsettling crack against one wall. You hear a quiet hiss and seadweller rattle as one of the other bystanders confronts the victor, or at least tries to, and gets cut off mid-rant with a swallowed gasp that sounds wet, like an underwater burble. It wasn’t Eridan who glubbed their last, and there’s a sinking feeling like perhaps you overlooked something really important. Like maybe you should have took a second instead of blithely assuming that giving him a new toy would have actually slowed his descent into what you’re very certain is highblood rage. 

Eridan’s looking at you directly now, the tip of the wand still glowing hot and white, miasma curling off it in waves that would be beautiful if he didn’t have the empty eyes of a predatory shark. Despite the brightness, his pupils are blown wide, and the full force of his focus is uniquely horrible. You edge to your left, mouth slightly agape with shallow breath. It’s as if you think his vision is movement-based. 

His eyes flicker to your left and you make the connection between thought and action a second after him. His grip shifts, and there’s a dry and underwhelming cough of a noise as the light shatters the orb by your foot, vaporizing everything within it.  
You really can’t believe it. You made a promise, and he had no right. Even as a prince, he had no right. You gesture with your lipstick in your hands, and shift your weight to heft the transformed weapon with barely a thought. You think he’s gone too far, so you don’t think at all, raising your chainsaw above your head with adrenaline rushing and a curdling scream. You leap forward and he stands there, grounded, and his expression doesn’t change.  
Eridan’s wrist twitches, but you don’t see it, the edges of your vision going grey. Another flash happens and you barely acknowledge it, already in the air when it hits you. It feels like a warm blast of air for moments, until it punches through and your grip loosens on the weapon in your hands. It is suddenly absurdly heavy, and thankfully the last thing you see is the grey ceiling, not his terrible face. The pain in your abdomen is like an old and far-away ache and over in the corner somebody’s making an unconscious, fearful whine. 

You want Karkat to be okay.

The afterlife is nothing like they said it was; Fading out of steel grey and dark and finding yourself among people you’d call friends but only because ‘acquaintances’ seems slightly rude, you don’t spend long there.  
When reality swings back in like falling over in reverse, the floor is just as cold and grey as when you left, and it’s most of what you react to. Dying has left you with a thinkpan that feels numb and an aching middle that feels thoroughly hungry.  
You shift, and put your hand down into your own sticky and fast-congealing blood. With one hand covering your pounding forehead, you bring it to your face and sniff automatically.

All around you, the air is filled with similar scents, and after an embarrassing interlude that you’d rather not think about in retrospect, you fumble to your feet and stagger toward a patch of violet that shows promise. 

It’s not blood, which is initially a disappointment for reasons you’d rather not explain, but when you touch it your sluggardly brain recalls that it’s cloth. High quality too, rich and useful. You put a hand over the broken skin the previous owner of that cape left you with, and heave a sigh, wrapping it around yourself with strengthless arms and tying a neat bow. Most of your thoughts are fuzzy, but other parts of you just work. You’re not going to pause and discern how.

The hornpile is a dark shape; easy to get to and easy to see among the grey-on-grey of the walls; neon and tyrian together mean you’ve found your future leader, and she’s cold.  
That’s nothing new, though. Seadwellers are always cold.

Five minutes later and you find a keyring as you straighten and wipe your mouth. It unlocks a small first-aid kit and you place a band-aid apologetically over the pinpricks on her neck. You don’t know what to do about the other thing, so you leave it, still feeling ill and drained but a lot more like yourself.  
Karkat’s not around, though you stumble for a little while looking for him, and trip up on Gamzee’s deplorable one wheeled device on your way out. You wonder how ridiculous you look and hope that wherever Rose is, she’s not able to see your current failings. 

The walk to the roof is punctuated with, well, punctures. You’ve got an appetite like a starving barkbeast and the more you consume the more angry you feel at the hand that had been dealt to you. Beneath the cloak, you’re slowly knotting things back together, but it’s a pretty slow process. 

The cape is ruined by the time you ascend the stairs but you can’t seem to draw together the effort to make it seem like you’re at all sorry. The highbloods all pause to look at you, your terrible outfit, your grim expression. Rage broils, your steps quicken and Gamzee’s standing gormlessly with his legs apart and knees slightly bent, like troll John Wayne. He gets a swift kick to the bone bulge for his trouble. It’s very satisfying. 

You seem to have caught the highbloods in the middle of a ridiculous showdown, and feel the urge to share your newfound rage with other people. Rainbow drinkers can punch really hard, you realize, as Vriska goes skidding across the floor.  
Finally, the other shoe has dropped. Standing awkwardly with wand in hand, Eridan doesn’t look any better. You grab the thing that caused most of this mess and snap his wand right in front of him with an angry shriek. He makes a kind of unsettled high-pitched burble in reply, like he knows he’s supposed to say something but is too frightened to say a thing at all. You’re brilliant and white and glowing right in front of his face, and you’ve never given less of a damn.  
With a blood curdling yell you lift your lipstick, transform it for business and swing it in a satisfying arc at his waist. His stupid head goes one way and his legs fall another and there are two separate pieces of garish scarf drifting to the floor. 

Normally you’d spend time cleaning your weapon but you’re feeling a desperate lack of grooming. Flipping it back into a lady’s accessory takes seconds and enough blood has touched your lips that you’re almost blasé about the whole idea now. A lady’s lips are naturally black, but you’re going to switch it up a little. 

Curling your tongue out to take a taste, you allow yourself a happy little smile at your success. You feel good, like a thousand Mindfangs, and turn away from the scene to go find Karkat. He’s proving to be remarkably elusive lately and you’ve made your point as far as the highbloods are concerned. You adjust the dark lenses that Gamzee dropped to better fit your nose and leave. 

You return to the labs for lack of anything better to do. After the excitement of establishing dominance through brutality like many other trolls before you, there’s a lull in both your hunger and rage, and a sudden yearning to catch up with Rose. You’ve taken a leaf out of her book, or so it seems, and finally stood up for yourself. You adjust the slider a little but nothing happens. It doesn’t occur to you that your meddling has become an addiction, and so you take off again after one last lingering slow-mo scroll through the dark.

There’s absolutely nothing, so you take the stairs and leave. It’s a bad idea from the first step to the third, when your heel catches the tail end of Eridan’s terrible cape and makes you skid into a patch of what you hope is grubsauce. Well, you’d previously hope it’s that. Now you just don’t care because you’re falling down all these stairs. 

Feeling unfortunate, you land breathlessly at the bottom in a streak of yellow and acrid mess and get to your feet with as much elegance as you can muster. It’s not elegant at all. Sollux is nearby, his teeth poking out of his mouth at right angles, and you take a minute to sort out what’s wrong with him. Slyly, you take a short break to consume but the scrape of your teeth manages to rouse him which is embarrassing for everyone. You excuse yourself and he waves an arm to let you know he doesn’t care so much (Plenty to spare, he guesses,) and asks why he can’t see. You tell him his eyes are gone.  
His brow wrinkles like he’s remembering something, and finally he nods as if it’s all been worked out. He’s got a lot calmer lately, you think.

You take his arm, and lead him back upstairs, discarding the cape and being done with it. You’re pretty much a mess from head to foot at this point, and so once more in the lab you lead him to the horn pile to wait while you change. It’s a little gauche to leave him with yellow streaks still leaking slowly from his ocular sockets and a band-aid won’t fix it, so you remove Feferi’s goggles and gently adjust them to fit on his head. Then you leave him on the opposite side of the pile. You wouldn’t want him to feel around and get a nasty shock. 

There’s a familiar sound of a message jangle from Karkat’s window, and you type one-handed for a minute while you pull on a glove. Once on, you press shift to start the next word of your terse reply. You’ve found Sollux, and the two of you will be up on the roof as soon as possible. You sneak a look at Rose’s window one more time.

Though your companion can’t appreciate it much, it’s all giving you a sense of deja vu. This time though, with a clear head, you find your first instinct is to meddle. Karkat’s hand brushes your cheek, and you snap out of it and step back, puzzled. His eyes are closed and joints stiff, but a second later he’s flailing at Terezi like always, so he must be fine. 

Gamzee’s there, his posture still terrible. You’d like to imagine that he’s standing just a little wider to make up for the powerful boot to the bulge you gave him a few hours ago, but you’re not going to voice that. He looks incredibly wild in a way you find unnerving, face almost completely covered in his own blood from the gouges across it. Sollux is trying to discuss quadrants with a mannikin in the corner gazing peacefully upon the scene, and Karkat steps forward to try and soothe his moirail. Your fingers itch to fix that clown for good.

It takes some time, but peace is restored after a cacophony of honks. It’s all a bit of a letdown. You were expecting something more exciting, and maybe with duels. Instead, there is a sleepy-eyed clown, a motley collection of other trolls, and Karkat standing guiltily next to Gamzee with messy hands. Terezi lets out a yell, and points into the sky. A green light has appeared, and it’s a signal to move. Karkat reaches out and gently adjusts her arm, and the hairs on the back of your neck prickle as Sollux raises his hands. The whine of his psionics is practically audible this time as he cranks up his power and then you’re off in a streak of light towards the beacon and into the outer ring. The universe folds behind you silently.

The beacon is bright, getting brighter as the rest of everything falls away. Sollux can’t see, but he doesn’t exactly need to; there’s only really one direction out as things collapse and he’s heading straight for the event horizon before it closes. Space seems like a complicated element but once you’ve got a feel for it it’s just kind of empty. Before long the beacon grows large and too bright for many, but you think you like it. After navigating you won’t really have another job. Perhaps it’ll be nice to bask in the heat. 

You’d be worried about driving right into the beacon, which looks suspiciously like a sun that you’d thought was extinguished, but Sollux’s psionics fizzle out and inertia brings you to a stop well before it becomes a problem. Once again, he’s a sticky mess, and you’d laugh if you thought it was appropriate.  
Karkat’s lip trembles, and he buries his face in Gamzee’s shirt, heaving great ugly sobs and smearing tears and drool over his moirail’s clothes. Gamzee just stands there, waiting for it to play out. Karkat’s crying doesn’t play out. 

You’re fixing them with such a look that you wonder for a moment why the clown taps his shoulder. He has to do it twice, before Karkat lifts his head with a quiet squeak of a query. Gamzee points and nearly everybody finally takes notice.  
A pair of humans (At least, you’re sure they’re humans) ascend dripping with liquid fire from the core of the sun. One dressed in red, and one in violent orange, they float with ease onto the grey tarmac of the asteroid. The scene is mostly a shambles, but you stand up straight and try to look as welcoming as possible.

What follows is debate and loud complaints; you let everybody speak, waiting for your chance to talk to your friend. You know she’s only being polite, and there will be plenty of time for conversation later. She’s smaller than she seemed before, demure, with hands that move gracefully as she gestures and talks. You could just about watch her all day. Her accent is foreign and clipped, her sardonic manner paradoxically sweet as she provides crisp bundles of verbal annihilation to all who cross her path in the name of making friends. 

CG: CALL ME CRAZY, BUT IT'S KIND OF HARD TO RELAX WITHIN A STONE'S THROW FROM, OH, I GUESS ONLY THE BIGGEST FUCKING STAR ANY MORTAL HAS EVER LAID EYES ON.  
GA: Actually I Was Just Thinking  
GA: Its Nice To Get A Little Sun After So Long  
CG: SURE, THAT'S ALL WELL AND GOOD FOR YOU.  
CG: BUT I MEAN, CAN THIS BE HEALTHY?  
CG: AREN'T WE GOING TO GET BURNED OR HAVE OUR RETINAS SCORCHED BY LOOKING AT IT?  
CG: OH GOD I THINK I'M HAVING A PANIC ATTACK. 

Karkat’s making mouth noises that you reckon indicate distress, so you move forward and retrieve the dark glasses you tucked away for just such an occasion. 

CG: QUICK, WHICH ONE OF YOU AWESOME DUDES HAS A RADICAL PAIR OF SHADES I CAN BORROW???  
GA: One Moment  
CG: I WAS JOKING, GET THOSE FUCKING THINGS AWAY FROM ME

You stand corrected, and mildly upset. Terezi’s covering her face with her hands, and Rose takes control, rising into the sky and gesturing to emphasize her argument.

TT: Reasonably soon, within a certain window, it will be time to leave.  
TT: We will then pilot this meteor as fast as we can make it go in that exact direction. 

It’s not too long before you find yourself with a sarcastic reply to her proposed plan, but the discussion keeps going past and through to a more serious issue. Aradia will wait by the sun, and Sollux plans to join her; you miss the sand and sun back home and also think it’s an attractive proposition. 

GA: Maybe I Will Stay Here Too  
TT: Why?  
GA: As Nice As It Sounds To Move On  
GA: I Dont Know If I Can Stand Three Of Your Human Years Of More Darkness  
GA: I Like This Sun Its Comforting In A Strange Way  
GA: Like Home  
TT: But what if we need your help?  
GA: What Could I Possibly Do  
GA: Aside From Providing A Light Source As You Navigate The Dim Corridors 

Aradia objects, but you still can’t really say you’re enthused. You ask Rose for help. 

GA: Cant You See The Path To Victory On This Matter  
TT: It's hard to say.  
TT: Does the repopulation of your species qualify as victory?  
TT: These things aren't always clear cut. Some outcomes are for your own judgment.  
TT: What outcome would you like the most?  
GA: I Would Like To Have The Orb Again And To Keep It Safe This Time  
GA:: And I Guess To Not Be A Total Failure  
TT: Ok.  
TT: If you follow my advice, I can at least promise you will find yourself in the best position to determine whether that may come to pass. 

You take a long pause, worrying at your lower lip; you’re taking off all of your lipstick, but you’re too concerned to care. Is she asking you to stay with her, maybe? You begin to reconsider.

TT: Can you please come?  
TT: Between the two of us, you with your inexplicably heretofore unmentioned phosphorescence, and I with my nigh-reflective traffic cone orange sun-sari, the meteor should never be too dark. 

Karkat mutters to himself, in a throaty croak, and sollux (or at least the shade of him) snickers quietly. 

GA: Well  
GA: All Right 

you agree finally, before things kick off again.  
It’s never the right time, but you’ll manage to say something someday, you think.


End file.
